


mid-july

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life, brothers being brothers, trying to deal with the heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: Sam and Dean try to deal with the summer heat.





	mid-july

**Author's Note:**

> it's so fucking hot where i live. over 40C most days, sometimes touching 50. i'm gonna melt. i'm gonna melt, and all that's gonna be left of me is all the fanfic i wrote. 
> 
> this was originally going to be my entry for the supernatural seasons anthology, but i ended up submitting another piece. you can find that [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15681063) if you want.

These sweet-sticky mornings are the best and the worst, Sam thinks, as he brushes his teeth by the side of the car in a field in the middle of Nowhere, USA. It’s early morning and the sun is barely up, but still his shirt is clinging to his skin with sweat, his hair damp and scalp itchy. He needs a shower.

He can hear Dean snore just behind him, sound asleep, completely unbothered by the background noise of Sam going about his morning rituals. He spits, rinses out his mouth, taking care to leave some water in the designated Toothbrush Bottle for Dean, and then checks his phone. It’s almost 6 AM; he has no idea why he is up so early.

They’re between hunts, driving aimlessly, too antsy to return to the bunker. Dean is getting restless and trigger-happy, seeing hunts where there aren’t, and Sam himself feels strangely without purpose. The last gig they’d had was a wendigo three weeks ago. They’re tired of driving about looking for something to hunt, and they’re tired of visiting landmarks they’ve seen a thousand times over. Sam gives it a few days before they start snapping at each other.

He gets back in the car and powers his laptop on, does a cursory sweep of news sites and the like, and, finding nothing, settles for updating the hunters’ database he’s been working on. He’d had the idea about a couple months ago, and Dean seemed to like it too, coming up with bits and pieces of information that he wrote down and handed to Sam later to upload. They haven’t put it online just yet, but it’s only a matter of time, and Sam’s quite proud of himself and Dean for pulling this off.

Dean continues sleeping, his breathing a heavy, constant rhythm in the background, and eventually Sam finds himself drifting off again. He doesn’t try to fight it; it’s not like he has anything better to do, anyway.

* * *

He wakes to the rumble of the Impala’s engine, and immediately shoots upright in the backseat, one hand flying to the butt of his gun. “What-”

“Relax,” says Dean from the front, driving with one hand on the wheel and one slung across the back of his seat. “Just going to see if we can find some breakfast.”

Sam unhands his gun, lets his body loose and sinks into the seat. “Okay,” he says. He checks the time on his phone. It’s almost 9. “When did you wake up?”

“Just half an hour ago,” Dean replies, and Sam wonders why he wasn’t woken up by the noise Dean must’ve made. Almost in answer to his question, Dean continues, “Tried to be quiet. Didn’t wanna wake you up. You done with that database?”

“Almost,” Sam answers, and stifles a yawn. “God, I need coffee.”

“I hear ya,” Dean says, sparing him a glance in the rearview mirror. He snorts. “Nice hair.”

Sam yawns again, covering his mouth with one hand and using the other to shove at Dean’s shoulder from behind. “Asshole.”

Dean just chuckles, and turns up the radio, humming along to whatever’s on.

Sam ends up dozing again, body leaning forward and head resting on the back of the front seat. He feels the shadow of Dean’s fingers in his hair before he slips off into sleep.

* * *

They find a town and a diner for breakfast and a motel for sleep. They don’t find a hunt.

“It’s the heat,” Dean theorizes on the third day of their stay. “Even fuckin’ ghosts don’t wanna come out when it’s ass degree Fahrenheit, Sammy.”

“You might have a point,” Sam agrees.

The aircon in their motel is shot, and they would have died of heatstroke if there hadn’t, blessedly, been a pool. It’s old, the tiles lined with grime and grease, the water overchlorinated and somewhat murky, but beggars can’t be choosers, and so they’re sitting on the edge in nothing but their shorts, legs in the water up to mid-calf.

Sam’s got an ancient tome balanced carefully in his lap, a notebook and pencil by his side for notes and translations, and Dean is fucking around on his phone, occasionally sharing an animal video with Sam. The air is thick and humid; there is sweat shining in Dean’s hair, and Sam’s got his own pulled back in a bun that isn’t stupid no matter what Dean says. Despite the heat and the occasional mosquito, though, Sam feels strangely content.

“Look,” Dean says presently, shoving his phone at Sam. “The parrot’s cursing at his owner.”

“Mm,” Sam hums, looking up from his book to watch the video.

Dean chuckles at the parrot’s particular brand of obscenity. “Dude, we should get a parrot,” he says once the video’s over. “I bet you could train it to say the Latin exorcism.”

“Sure,” Sam says, playing along. “Why not?”

“No, listen,” Dean says, turning sideways to face Sam, serious as all hell. Sam yelps as some water splashes him, and manages to get the book away just in time.

“That is papyrus–” he begins indignantly, but Dean waves him off.

“Look, I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we can do it!” he insists. “Just imagine it, okay – demon’s mouthing off, thinking it’s so great, and all we gotta do is bring out Jimmy the cockatoo, who exorcises the demon. The world’s first hunter bird, Sammy! It’ll be great!”

“I can’t believe you named it already,” Sam says, laughing. “And also, I think the heat is getting to you.”

Dean smacks him upside the head. “Bitch,” he complains. “You’re not taking me seriously!”

“That’s because it’s a dumb idea!” Sam retorts, placing the book out of harm’s reach so he can shove Dean. “Jerk,” he adds.

“It’s not a dumb idea!” Dean all but yells, and pushes Sam so hard that he loses his balance and falls into the pool.

He gasps, the tepid water suddenly too cool on his skin, his hair soaking wet and falling into his eyes. He spares the book a glance to make sure it’s okay, and then manages an outraged “You  _asshole_!” before grabbing Dean and pulling him into the water with him.

“Sammy, fuck!” Dean curses as he lands into the pool, and Sam laughs.

“You deserve it,” he tells Dean, and then shouts as Dean splashes him, drenching him further. He retaliates in kind, not caring that they’re behaving like children, not caring that it’s hot as ass and they don’t have a hunt and he has a database to complete. This is the essence of summer with Dean, of home, and there is nowhere he’d rather be and nothing he’d rather be doing.

**Author's Note:**

> what's the weather like where you are?


End file.
